I am Maya Gupta.
I was born in a small village, raised in a middle-class family where love often tried to cover the cracks of our struggles. My father, Dhairya Gupta, worked as a private employee. In my early childhood, he was my hero — the man who played with us every evening after work, who took us out on weekends, who bought us little things even before we asked. Neighbors often said I looked just like his mother, my grandmother, and he believed it too. For him, I was not only his daughter but the reflection of his mother — his little girl who could do no wrong.
My mother, Vamika Gupta, a homemaker and part-time tailor, stitched not only our clothes but also the fabric of our lives. Her hands were always busy, her patience endless, though her quietness sometimes weighed heavier than words.
My elder sister, Shalini, was almost like a second mother to me. She was much older, and while she loved me, she never missed a chance to criticize — sometimes playfully, sometimes seriously. She forced me to study beyond my interest, pushed me into things I disliked, and always behaved as though she knew better. I often felt dominated, suffocated, though deep inside I knew she cared.
With my younger brother, Karthik, things were lighter. We were so close in age that we grew up like twins, companions in games, laughter, and secrets. He was my partner in mischief and my closest bond. Yet, even in happy moments, I sometimes felt strangely different, as if a piece of me didn't belong.
But life never stays simple for long.
In school, I faced darkness I never expected. A teacher punished me harshly, unfairly, and as my grades slipped, the punishments worsened. I never told my family. I wasn't used to standing up for myself; at home, someone was always there to speak for me. But my silence made the suffering worse.
At the same time, our home changed too. My father fell into the grip of alcohol. He returned late, faint and quarrelsome, sometimes fighting with neighbors and relatives. Financial struggles deepened — paying fees, transport, even daily needs became hard.
My bond with Karthik weakened. He tried to dominate me, and I couldn't bear it. Shalini's advice turned into constant demands. My mother, though loving, began siding more with them and cutting back my freedom because I was "a girl growing up." I began to feel invisible, even in my own home.
The truth about school finally came out when Shalini discovered it. She and my father fought for me, confronting the teacher. The abuse ended, and my father, shaken, began trying to change his habits. Stability slowly returned.
But by then, something inside me had changed forever.
I became quiet, withdrawn. My father no longer valued my ambitions, focusing instead on Shalini — who by then had built her own path, married Aarav Arora, and become a mother to little Inaya, a bright one-year-old who became the center of the family's joy. Karthik too was promising, balancing studies with part-time work. My mother's love remained, but mostly in private. In the eyes of the family, I was a shadow.
I cried at the smallest things, avoided conversations, and drifted further into silence. My friends, once close, began choosing others over me. Even in my happiest spaces, loneliness followed me.